Liturgical Mysteries 02 The Baritone Wore Chiffon (7 page)

"When our dog scratches," Moosey said thoughtfully, "we have to put some powder on him. He doesn’t like it much."

This caught Father Barna by surprise. "Huh? No. No, I suppose he doesn’t."

"Who won the battle?" asked Bernadette, pulling her dress up over her head, peeking out just in time to see her mother cover her face with her hands in abject horror.

"Gideon’s army won," said Father Barna, "but the story isn’t..."

"Did the whole army have fleas?" asked Moosey.

"No, just Gideon I think, but..."

Moosey interrupted. "Mom says that we could all get them because they get in the carpet and lay eggs."

"What?" Father Barna croaked, now close to panic.

"Can I pet your head?" asked Robert.

"Our last priest gave us candy," said Ashley, pulling on his robe and trying to get into his pockets.

"This is my favorite dress," said Bernadette, raising and lowering her skirt to show off her new Barney underpants. "But Momma says it's a bitch to iron."

Chapter 6

"How much for the snake?" I wanted that snake. It would cinch my victory at the Bishop's Invitational Choral Tournament. I was just one voice away, and this could be it.

She picked Rolf up carefully so as not to squeeze the still-wriggling, tennis-ball sized lump that was about eight inches down his throat.

"He only sings when he's fed."

I had plenty of hamsters and I knew how to use them.

"How much?" I asked again, eyeing the reptile with greedy eyes.

Suddenly I looked up. There was a gun in her hand that gave me a bad case of barrel envy. A gun in one hand and a nine-foot boa constrictor in the other. Somebody was going to get it, and I was afraid it was going to be me.

"Marilyn," I called, "How about a cup of coffee?"

"You know I love you. Right, honey?" asked Meg.

"Yes."

"This is really bad."

•••

"Hayden! You aren't going to believe this!"

Beverly and Elaine had both come into the police station and were hollering across the counter. Dave had gone out for donuts, or he might have been able to restore a little decorum.

"Come on in. Quit yelling," I called from my desk.

They came around the counter and through the door of my cluttered office. I turned down the stereo and listened to both of them launch into a tirade-duet.

"One at a time," I said. "Tell me what's going on."

"It's the valet!" said Elaine.

"He's a dwarf!" shouted Beverly.

"I believe they like to be called 'little people'," I said. "But why do you think he's a dwarf? Maybe he's just short."

"He TOLD us that he was a dwarf!" Elaine said. "I just can't believe this."

"I couldn't even understand him," said Beverly. "He's Hungarian! And he doesn't speak English all that well."

I nodded. "So, he's a Hungarian dwarf. And his name is…?"

"I wrote it down. Hang on," said Beverly, digging a piece of paper out of her purse. "Here it is. His name is Wenceslas. Wenceslas Kaszas. He's royalty or something."

I could tell I was smiling in spite of myself. I had heard about the priest's valet. Word travels fast around St. Germaine, and having a Hungarian dwarf in town was a tough secret to keep.

"I don't think that Wenceslas is a Hungarian name. It's more Czech I think. Good King Wenceslas and all that."

"It doesn't matter," said Elaine, despair evident in her voice. "Our verger is a Hungarian dwarf. What are we going to do?"

"I guess we'll make do until we get our new priest."

"Can't you do something, Hayden?"

"Nope. Sorry. We just have to wait it out."

As I watched Elaine and Beverly cross the street and head straight for the library, presumably to spread the news to whomever they could find, Dave came in the front door with the donuts.

"What's going on?" he asked. He put the box of donuts on the counter, opened it and took two of them back to his desk.

"Nothing earthshaking. Just a little Episcopal Church politics."

"Oh, you mean the dwarf. They were talking about him down at Dizzy Donuts."

"Really? They were talking about it? I thought Dizzy D's was a Methodist hangout."

"I don't know about that," Dave said, "but St. Barnabas should be full next Sunday. Everyone will be there. It's all they're talking about." Dave took a big bite of his breakfast.

"Answer the phone please, Dave," I said in response to the insistent ringing and my eagerness to cut this conversation short.

"Mmmph," said Dave through a mouthful of banana crème filling.

"Never mind," I said. "I'll get it."

Hugh was on the phone. I mentally figured the time difference. It was mid-afternoon in England.

"How's the new priest?" he asked.

"Um. Well, he's certainly eminently unqualified, yet at the same time, highly amusing."

"Great," he said, changing the subject. "Do you have any more thoughts on the murder?"

"Yes I do. I believe I've solved the entire crime, but I'll have to have another trip over to explain everything to the Police Authority. Did you check out the diamond?"

"Yes, we did. It was a fake, just as you said, and the real diamond is still missing. Any ideas where it might be?"

"Yep."

"Well?"

"If I tell you now, it won't be a surprise."

I could hear a heavy sigh on the other end of the phone.

"Ok, ok," I said. "I don't actually know yet. It would be easier if I had about a week over there to question a few folks and look around again."

"I'll see what I can arrange. Your stock is pretty high since your discovery of the fake diamond. The Minster Police are holding up their heads again."

"Let me know when. Things are pretty slow here."

•••

Nancy came in a few minutes later, grabbed a couple of donuts, and sat down at her desk.

"I heard about your dwarf," she said.

"First of all, he's not
my
dwarf. He's the priest's dwarf …er…valet."

"The priest has a valet?"

"Well," I started, hating to be put in the position of defending this nitwit, "maybe the valet is left over from his lawyerin' days. All lawyers need a valet. At least that's what I've heard."

"I'm going to become a lawyer," said Dave. "I need a valet."

"Yeah, Dave," said Nancy, reaching for the phone, now ringing again. "You need someone to lay out your khakis and keep track of your dates." She lifted the phone to her ear.

"Police Department. Uh huh. Just a second. I'll get him." She pointed to me and pushed half a donut into her mouth.

"Hayden Konig," I said.

"Hayden, this is Malcolm."

This was the call I'd been dreading all morning.

"Hi, Malcolm. What's new?"

"You know exactly what's new."

Malcolm Walker was the Senior Warden of St. Barnabas. He was in charge of the vestry, the church finances, and was the richest man in St. Germaine. He was currently separated from his second wife, Rhiza, whom I knew quite well from graduate school. Rhiza had moved to Blowing Rock just after Christmas, and I saw her occasionally. We were still great friends. Malcolm and I were less friendly, but in spite of our past differences, still on good terms.

"Listen, Malcolm. I'm staying out of all of this. The bishop assigned this guy for reasons unknown to anyone with any sense, but I'm going to ride it out."

"He wants the vestry to hire his valet to be the verger."

"I'd heard that."

"Look, Hayden," he said. "Everyone respects your opinion. Apparently you're now the only person employed by the church that has any sense of liturgy at all. Might I convince you to speak out on this subject?"

"I don't think I can, Malcolm. The priest is the boss until he's no longer the priest. So, until the bishop replaces him, which doesn't seem likely, it's up to the vestry to do the best they can. Admittedly, that probably won't be too much. You can refuse to hire the verger, but I think Emil will use him anyway."

"I suppose. I've already left several messages with the bishop, but he hasn't returned my calls."

"On the up-side, the word is that St. Barnabas should be full on Sunday."

"Oh, that's just great." Malcolm sighed into the phone. "I'll talk to you later," he said and hung up.

Nancy had already picked up another call on line two. "It's for you," she called. "It's Connie Ray."

"Hi, Connie. What's up? Yeah. Yeah. Hmmm. I don't know what we can do, but I'll ask around. Someone might know something. No, don't shoot anybody. I'll talk to you later."

Nancy looked at me waiting for the news.

"That was Connie Ray."

"Yeah, I know."

"He's been having some problems out at the farm."

Nancy nodded.

"I'm afraid it's…" I paused for dramatic effect, my eyes narrowing, "cow tipping."

"It's too cold for cow tipping," Dave chimed in. "That's a summer sport."

"These are in the barn. It's cold, sure, but at least there's a lot of hay around."

Pete Moss stuck his head in the door.

"If any of you want a haircut," he announced, "I'm offering a free trim with any sandwich combo plate. Noylene has just graduated from Beauty College."

"We'll be there shortly," I said. "I always like to support our local artists."

"What about the cow tipping?" Nancy asked as Pete continued down the street, making his luncheon announcement to the various businesses remaining open through the cold winter months. She had her pad out and was getting ready to take notes.

"Last time, it was those high school kids from Watauga South," Dave said.

"Probably more of the same," I said. "Let's stop it though before some poor cow gets hurt. Who's up for barn duty? Nancy?"

"Ah, crime fighting in the big city." Nancy was resigning herself to spending the night in a cold barn. "I'm taking Dave with me," she said.

"Fine with me," I answered, knowing that Dave would love it. An evening alone in a dark barn with Officer Parsky. What could be better? I think the Rubaiyat said it best.

A book of verses underneath the boughs;

A loaf of bread, a jug of wine, and cows.

Lenten Cow Tipping. What next?

Chapter 7

Someone was in trouble and it was probably me. We detectives can sense these things almost instinctively, that and the fact that there was a forty-five pointed straight at my head by a woman wearing black, picking body parts off my carpet like a crusader finding relics in the Holy Land, and holding a nine foot boa constrictor named Rolf.

"You're coming with me," said Lilith, waving her piece around like Toscanini at a Mahler festival.

"Where are we going?" I asked.

"The circus."

•••

Brahms' First Symphony was heading into the slow movement just as the pork chops were nearing culinary perfection.

"I don't keep up with the latest trends," said Megan as I finished telling her about our newest police case. "What the heck is cow tipping?"

She moved around the table, setting the plates and silver with uncommon ease considering she had to maneuver her way over and around a sprawling dog that had made himself comfortable in the middle of the kitchen floor.